With Every Heartbeat (Forbidden Men 4)

She shifted her focus away from me, flitting it between Cora and her father. “That’s...that’s not possible. My father is... My father’s Ernest K. Blakeland.”

Mr. Wilder glanced down, but Cora sniffed. “No. Ernest K. Blakeland was simply married to your cheating whore of a mother. He knew her baby wasn’t his, but he couldn’t pin his anger on your mom because she went and died giving birth to you, which left only you for him to take his anger out on.”

“No,” Zoey whispered, but I could tell from the horror on her face that she believed every word. She shook her head. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

Cora threw her head back and laughed. “Tell you what? That our daddy was too chickenshit to claim you and risk losing all his money because his funds were tied up in Blakeland’s bank? He’d be destroyed if anyone found out he was your sperm donor. It didn’t even matter that I made sure he knew you were being beaten on a regular basis. He couldn’t risk losing his investments. Now...be honest. If I’d told you about him, and you saw how he was more concerned with saving himself than saving you, you never would’ve agreed to give me your kidney. Would you?”

Zoey clutched her stomach and sank closer to Caroline, who wrapped both arms around her in support. “But…but…why didn’t you ever tell me before that? Before you knew about your sickness?”

Cora shrugged. “It never served my purpose. I kind of liked you being blind to the truth.”

A half sob, half laugh left Zoey’s lungs. She glanced at her biological father, who shook his head and held true regret in his eyes. “Zoey,” he started, his voice full of apology.

But she held up a hand. “No, you don’t have to say anything. I understand perfectly. You’re just as egotistic and self-serving as she is. And you know what? I’m glad you never tried to claim me. I think I’d rather have been raised with manners beaten into me than raised to be like her.”

Cora sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose this means you’re not going to give me that kidney now, are you?”

This gut-clenching, defeated expression crossed Zoey’s face. But despite the fact that each piece of news seemed to beat her down, she still straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Of course I’m going to give you one. I said I would. Unlike you, I’m actually honest about the things I say.”

Her gaze met mine. I nodded my encouragement, more proud of her than I’d ever been. I wasn’t sure if I could’ve been the bigger person in this moment and helped a person who’d wronged me as much as Cora had wronged us. But I loved her amazingly selfless heart, anyway.

Pain wrenched her face as she kept looking at me, though. She turned to Caroline. “I’m done here.” She started for the door, but something in the box Asher held caught her attention.

She stopped and began to reach for one of her tattered notebooks.

“Don’t—” I stepped toward her, but she’d already realized what the mess was. With a gasp, she curled her hand back to her chest. When tears filled her eyes, I couldn’t handle her pain. “Zoey.” I touched her shoulder, but she whirled away and rushed from the apartment with Caroline hot on her heels.

Feeling rejected, I panted out a breath before turning slowly toward the two Wilders who’d just destroyed my Zoey. Cora’s father managed to look contrite, but Cora lifted her chin, daring me to say something.

“If you ever talk to her or me again—”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” her father cut me off, his gaze narrowing on Cora. “As soon as the transplant’s complete, she’ll be coming back home…” Cora opened her mouth to object, but he kept talking over her, “…unless she wants me to cut off her monthly stipend.” When she gasped, he met her gaze. “Remember, Cora. You don’t have any control over your trust fund until you’re thirty.”

“You bastard.” Tears immediately filled her eyes. “Zoey was right. I think I’d rather have been raised by an abusive asshole too.” Huffing out her anger, she spun around and stomped back to her room, where she slammed her door.

Her father glanced at us remaining men. I glared back, and he cleared his throat. “Do you boys need help carrying any of those boxes?” he asked.

I don’t know how he did it, but Ten found out where Belcher was before the night was up. It was after two in the morning, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t getting any sleep until that bastard paid for what he’d done.

He’d left the after-party for the football players and was at a frat house. When we found him, he had his hand up some girl’s skirt. Ten had filled me in on a few more details on the way over, only enraging me more when he mentioned where he’d seen Belcher putting his hands on Zoey.

That hand he pulled out of the girl’s skirt when we barged into the room was the first thing I was going to break. The girl he was with now looked wasted but she was giggling, so at least he hadn’t been forcing this one to do anything. Which only made me angrier. Why had he tried to force Zoey, then?

“Hey again, Belchie.” Ten grinned cheerfully and waved a few fingers. “Guess what? I found that boyfriend you were looking for earlier. You remember Quinn Hamilton, right?”

Belcher’s eyes widened as I advanced toward him. He tried to crawl off the bed but got tangled in the sheets and fell over backwards onto the floor. I helped him up, by the hair.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he sobbed, lifting his hands in surrender. “I swear to God, I didn’t know she was yours.”

“So that made you think you had free reign to kiss her while she tried to fight you off, free reign to hit her, to put your fucking hand down her pants?” I grabbed his wrist. “This hand?”

He screamed when I slammed his hand into the wall, then he screamed even louder when I slammed his head into it next. I remembered seeing the bruise on Zoey’s cheek at Cora’s apartment, so I made sure Belcher had more than a few on his cheeks. Ten had told me Zoey had racked him between the legs, but I didn’t think one hit to the junk was enough. Not nearly enough. So I kneed him there a few times before I planted my fist in his gut. Just when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to crumble, I hit him one last time in the jaw.

But that didn’t satisfy me. I wanted to hit him more. I wanted to hurt him more. I stared down at his unconscious body I’d watched fall to my feet, and my knuckles cracked, thirsty for more blood, more crunching bone, more give of unwilling flesh.

Blood roaring through my system, I turned to Asher, Noel and Ten, who were simply standing back and watching the show with appreciation. “That wasn’t enough,” I growled.

Noel nodded his understanding.